名人诗歌|A fuzzy fellow, without feet,

A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet1, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion2, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend3 in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence --
And struts4 in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You'd scarce recognize him!
By Men, yclept Caterpillar5!
By me! But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!